


Cupid

by lunarlychallenged



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Finch cannot deal with his feelings, Valentine's Day, what a dope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 22:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15738207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarlychallenged/pseuds/lunarlychallenged
Summary: As it turns out, Cupid strikes with slingshots and rocks instead of bows and arrows.





	Cupid

“Valentine’s Day,” Race groaned. “The worst holiday for selling papes. What’s the point of a holiday with no news?”

He was right - nothing happened on Valentine’s. People were busy buying flowers and candies, and the news hardly mattered in the rush of it. Maybe the evening papers would sell better, but the morning was a dead end.

“It is a nice day,” you hedged. Frigid and gray, but nice. You had buried your hands in a pair of your spare socks, and it hadn’t started snowing yet. “At least we ain’t stuck in a storm.”

“If we’s selling well, I’d take a storm over this,” he mumbled.

By mid-morning, most of the newsies had given up on selling. They loitered around street corners, talking about inadequate headlines and how Valentine’s Day was a day for the rich.

Mush talked about how candy prices skyrocketed before the holiday, then dropped immediately after.

Romeo talked about the cheesy cards.

Jack, who had complained in previous years, splurged on a bouquet of flowers for Katherine.

“I think it’s sweet,” you said when the others laughed about it. “Just look at them. They seem happy.”

“That’s just because he knows she’ll make out with him now,” Romeo said. He grinned, pure impudence.

You grinned back, raising one eyebrow. “You’d buy a girl flowers if you thought she’d kiss you. Too bad you ain’t as handsome as Jack.”

“Y/N gotcha there, kid,” Finch called. He had been shooting the lid of a trashcan with his slingshot, aim impeccable. “You’s just jealous.”

“And you’s just agreeing with Y/N because you can’t afford flowers,” Romeo shot back. “And you can’t think of another way to get Y/N to kiss you.”

There had been a round of ‘ooh’s when you teased Romeo, but silence fell when he lashed back at Finch. Romeo had the decency to look repentant, guilty gaze hopping between you and Finch.

There had been a time - a wonderful time, if you were being honest - when it seemed possible that Finch may want to go out with you. He asked you to go on walks, he partnered with you to sell, and he let you wear his jacket when it got cold out. You, and everybody else, had thought that it was leading up to something. You were all young and poor, but love didn’t have anything to do with age or money, right?

Maybe love didn’t have anything to do with those things, but that didn’t matter. Finch had never tried to move past those things, so he must not love you. After all, the things he did for you were things friends did for each other. You had hoped for more because the guys had pushed you into it.

(“He smiles more with you.”

“Please. Finch would kill me if I touched his stuff. When you touch anything, he looks like Christmas came early.”)

Maybe the hope hadn’t died completely, since your heart skipped when Finch turned pink in the wake of Romeo’s jab. You had to fix this. You had to take the attention off of Finch, and put it someplace less risky. 

“You’s just jealous,” you finally told Romeo, “because I’s more likely to kiss Finch than I am to kiss you.”

You cringed in the aftermath of the statement. No, it didn’t feel like a helpful addition.

Finch, now a deep red, slowly raised his slingshot. Before you had time to think about the implications of his actions, he had shot you in the chest with a rock. You gave a small ‘oof’ of surprise, hands immediately rising to catch the small stone.

Race gave a loud bark of laughter, but swallowed it when Albert slugged him in the arm.

“Finch,” you said. You wanted to laugh, or scream, or just freeze time until you could figure out what point he was trying to make. “You are the actual worst.”

He blinked, the picture of innocence. Only the remnants of a blush gave him away. “I have no idea what you’s talking about.”

You tossed the rock back to him in response.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” he said with a smug grin. You could tell he was making it up as he went, but you could also tell that he felt good about the lie. “What’s a romantic day without a Cupid?”

You snorted. “Okay - first of all, that wasn’t an arrow. That was a rock. Second, you only shot me when I looked at you. Who were you hoping I’d fall in love with?”

Finch gave a nervous laugh. He opened his mouth, shut it, and promptly shot Jack in the side.

Jack looked away from Katherine, mouth dipping into a scowl. “Finch, I swear to God -”

“You’s been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” Finch said in a loud, desperate voice. “You’s got to kiss your true love.”

Katherine laughed, and Jack’s frown faded when he looked at her. When he briefly pressed his lips against hers, her eyebrows shot up. “What, so I’m your true love now?”

“What, so you wouldn’t have kissed me if he’d hit you?” Jack wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, kissing her hair while she grumbled about ‘knowing what happens when you assume.’

“You didn’t answer the question,” Race sing-songed. “Who is Y/N supposed to kiss?”

Finch shrugged. “Cupid ain’t in charge of that. It’s up to Y/N.” He couldn’t have sounded less enthusiastic if he tried.

You put your hand on your hips, playfully surveying the collection of Newsies around you. Some grinned, not bothering to play along. Others winked at you, more than game. 

Your eyes flicked over to Finch. He brushed at the dirt on his pants.

“Romeo,” you said. “Happy Valentine’s. Lay one on me.”

He smiled, a little uncomfortable. “For real?”

“Hey, it’s not like I have any say in who Cupid sets me up with -”

“It’s a joke,” Finch cut in. “Lay off, Romeo.”

“Love is never a joke. Romeo, if Cupid decrees it, who are we to fight true love?” You took a dramatic step toward him, plastering on a broad, cheesy grin.

Before you could put your hand on Romeo’s shoulder, a rock rammed into him. He jerked out of your way, and you turned to glare daggers at Finch. Instead of glaring back at you, he was striding toward you.

“Finch, what -”

He put one hand on the back of your neck, the other on your waist, and pulled you in for a kiss.

You hadn’t been planning on a real kiss with Romeo. It would have been a brief peck, at most. When Finch kissed you, there was no doubt that it was real. His hand ran up the length of your ribcage, hard enough that he may have been able to feel the ridges through your layers. When his forehead pressed against yours, you could feel the furrow of his brow. Without opening your eyes, you could tell that his were squeezed shut - waiting for something, like for you to pull away. For you to laugh him off.

You pulled away a little, but held a fistful of his shirt in your hand. “Next time you kiss me, could you skip the part where you shoot me?”

“Next time?”

“I’s been waiting for you to say something for months, Finch,” you said. You could feel the unrest of the boys around you, but Finch was terrible at dealing with feelings directly. If you didn’t make him face them now, he would run from them until he didn’t have to anymore. “Don’t kiss me if you don’t plan to follow through.”

He kissed you again, quick and relieved. “Romeo’s gonna be pissed that his true love ditched him.”

“If you shoot me again, I’s gonna ditch you.”

He laughed and pulled away. He grinned at you, walking backwards toward his selling spot. “Cupid is unpredictable. Cupid strikes when you least expect him.”

“He’d better not,” you called after him. “Finch, I swear, I will strike Cupid right back.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he crooned. He disappeared around the corner, a skip in his step.

Romeo beamed at you, and you scowled at him. Scowled, but with a hint of a smile in it. 

“Buzz off,” you said. 

“He’s going to buy you flowers.”

“Mind your own business.”

“You’s gonna have to make out with him.”

“I don’t have to kiss him if I don’t want to.” You pretended to look for something in your bag, using the time to breathe out a sigh of delight. “But to be fair, I’d have done it anyway.”


End file.
